#POEMS ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL WEATHER FULL#

' The Lantern Room begins with a speaker who might be 'the translator' of the 'ancient, mottled language' of an angel, and from that beginning onward reads as if it had been written toward achieving the language of angels. 'Honum-once the ballet dancer-has an enviable quality of channeling heightened emotion that doesn’t feel rehearsed, and without losing dramatic appeal…For all its fragility, The Lantern Room is deceivingly anchored in health and strength.” It is a wonder to read a book whose gravity is tuned to grief and yet turns toward revelatory observation and compassion for the scope of human experience.' In this second full-length collection, Honum’s speaker travels with a lodestar of primary, familial loss, and meets the world with as much rawness as empathy. 'A poet of startling figuration and generosity, Chloe Honum offers readers a window into a lush-intricate inner world reflected in tactile experiences of landscape, weather, and yearning. Rebecca Gayle Howell, The Common: A Modern Sense of Place With each new word, she steps us forward with the care we use to move into the dark night, when we cannot see the path ahead.' 'Here is a story told in dazzling music, composed as much from silence as sound, by a speaker who is brave, honest, funny, and clear. 'miraculous, classically beautiful…this book, like all work, has a balletic grace and precision.' I sit at the edge, dangle my feet and wait.'Sorrow and resilience converge in the sharp-eyed second book from Honum ( Tulip Flame), rich with a lexicon for the inanimate and the restorative capacity of the imagination…Rife with radiant conceits and brisk realism, these are memorable and rich poems.' Now, when I go to the gym pool I choose a laneīy the window graced with patches of sunlight, even when the lifeguard points to a darker one that’s open. To the phone from bomb pops in the afternoon, told me what I had missed at the pool during the day.

#POEMS ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL WEATHER FULL#

Inside our cheeks, lettuce, peppers, corn on the cob, green beans, the navy blue pitcher with white corn flowers full of ice tea. Always a quick salad, cherry tomatoes squirting seeds When would I turn this strange looking? We were ravenous on those nights. Unnerved by the curves and hair of her body I would shiver upstairs to the shower and jump in with her. Mom’s blue terrycloth cover-up barely covered The water, dropped too low to filter down, but the night breeze warmed our plunges then chilled our towel-wrapped bodies. Mom made us wait for evening so she could swim her laps in peace. “night swims” by marcia lebeauĪll the kids went to the community pool every summer day. So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. The chill, uncertain sunlight of those long They weren’t supposed to hear what we are saying.Īnd reflected on the faded tapestries now The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide You hear the urgent whistling of a plover,įrom that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour You feel it creeping closer to the window, Something-you don’t know what-has disappeared “before summer rain” by rainer maria rilke So near, a long arm man can pick off stars,

Poems about the beautiful weather